Slocum and the Hanging Horse

by Jake Logan

  He grunted, arched his back, and tried to bury himself fully in her molten core. He exploded and spilled his seed, then sank down atop her. Ruth’s arms circled his body and held him close until he rolled off her to lie beside her.

  “I’ve never felt anything like that before, John,” she said in a low voice. “I didn’t know. I never—”

  “Quiet,” Slocum said, sitting up.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Get dressed. Now!” Slocum hurried to obey his own command. He had heard the steady clop-clop of an approaching horse. From all that Ruth had said, it could be only one person.

  Slocum wanted to capture Les Jeter if he could. And if he couldn’t take the man alive, dead would suit him just fine too, as long as he got his watch back.

  10

  Slocum staggered when Ruth tackled him from behind. Her strong arms circled his shoulders and locked his hands to his sides. He shrugged and easily broke free.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “You don’t want to tangle with Les. Please, John. You can’t. He’s a killer. He . . . he does things you can’t believe.”

  “I can believe,” Slocum said grimly.

  “I don’t want to lose you. Not when I just found you,” Ruth said, clinging to him fiercely. She buried her face in his chest and held him tight. “Let him look around. Hide here in the barn or maybe out back. He won’t see you. Hide and let him go his way. There doesn’t have to be anybody getting hurt.”

  “Except you,” Slocum said, prying her hands away and holding out her arms to display the bruises. “He did that, didn’t he?”

  “He . . . he plays rough sometimes. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Do you love him?”

  “I can’t. Not after the way he’s treated me. But he’s a good provider so it’s not that bad, especially when he is gone so much of the time.”

  “You know where he gets the money, don’t you? He steals it, usually off dead men. He’s got the town of San Esteban scared shitless. Nobody there will speak up against him for fear he’ll ride in and destroy the entire town like he did the bank.”

  “Bank? Did he—?” From the expression on the woman’s face, Slocum had to believe that she hadn’t known the bank was robbed by her husband. He doubted Jeter shared much in the way of his activities as road agent and bank robber with her. And he would never tell his wife how many men he had killed unless it was to keep her in line.

  “He robbed the bank after killing five or six men. I missed the exact count. Nobody knows how much he stole because he burned the bank down, with the president and all the employees in it. Your ‘good provider’ might be fetching you a couple thousand dollars.”

  “It’s not worth so many lives.”

  “Those were only the ones in the bank,” Slocum went on ruthlessly. “He killed the deputy and several others trying to rescue those he held hostage. For all the good it did them. The deputy’s head was blown half off.”

  Ruth gasped and began to cry. Slocum reckoned she had to be a better actress than he gave her credit for to fake such shock and horror at what her husband had done.

  “I didn’t know any of this,” she said in a weak, choked voice. “Not a bit of it. I thought I had talked him out of trying to rob the bank.”

  “You knew he was a road agent.”

  “Y-yes, but not that he killed all those people. The ones you said.”

  Slocum looked around the barn again for any trace of a horse or mule. It was a long walk for Ruth to leave this place without a mount. That had to be why Jeter kept her alone and without any means of escape.

  “He’s never gone for long, is he?”

  “No,” she said, looking up. More tears welled in her brown eyes, turning them to muddy pools. “Seldom more than a week and sometimes only a day or two.”

  “That keeps you from hiking out,” Slocum said.

  “H-he caught me once trying to get away,” Ruth said. “Th-that’s why I don’t want you going up against him. He’ll kill you and—”

  “And you’ll lose your ticket out of here?”

  Ruth sniffed and nodded. “It’s so selfish, I know, but I really don’t want you hurt, John. That—what we just did—it’s never been like that for me. I’m not lying.”

  “I know,” Slocum said, gently pushing her away when she tried to cling to him again. “Stay out of the way. I’m taking your husband in, sitting upright or feet first. And truth to tell, it doesn’t matter to me which it is.”

  “If you have to,” Ruth said. She brushed a wild strand of brunette hair back from her eyes. She wiped her nose and then dabbed at her eyes. “Just don’t go getting yourself k-killed.”

  “That’s not something I intend to do,” Slocum said, settling his gun belt around his waist. He drew his Peacemaker and opened the gate, spun the cylinder, and made sure he had six rounds ready to fire. He was ready to take on Les Jeter.

  “I’ll go back with the goats,” Ruth said uncertainly.

  “That’s a good place,” Slocum said, but his mind was already on the fight. He pushed open the barn door a few inches and peered out. The sound of an approaching horse was gone. All sounds were gone. Slocum frowned. He might have been mistaken, but doubted it. And the chance he had heard another pilgrim traveling past was close to zero. Anyone seeing the cabin would stop by to say howdy, get some water and maybe food before riding on.

  He slipped outside and looked around, then dashed to the cabin and dropped down beside the rain barrel. When he heard his horse neighing loudly, he cursed. Jeter had seen the horse and knew Ruth had a visitor. For the outlaw it wouldn’t much matter who it was. Any caller was a threat to his hideout. And if he thought his wife had a secret lover, he would go crazy. Slocum didn’t have to know any more about Jeter than what he already did to be certain of this.

  Slocum backed away from the rain barrel and chanced a quick look behind the house. His horse jerked at its tether and tried to kick out to free itself. Slocum went to the horse and soothed it, but whatever had spooked it was still around. That had to be Les Jeter.

  “Damnation,” Slocum said when he realized Jeter wasn’t in the cabin. The man’s horse was nowhere to be seen. That could only mean the outlaw had ridden down lower on the hill and had come up from behind the barn. Throwing caution to the winds, Slocum sprinted for the barn and flung open the door in time to see Jeter pushing Ruth through a small window at the rear.

  “Drop your iron!” Slocum shouted. He had his six-shooter out and aimed, but Jeter wasn’t the surrendering kind. The outlaw brought up his six-gun and fired too accurately for Slocum’s liking. One slug ripped through the brim of his hat and another made him wince as a hot line was traced across his cheek. Jeter was aiming for his head and a quick, certain kill.

  Slocum reflexively ducked and fell into a stall. He came to his feet and thrust his six-shooter over the top, ready to shoot Jeter. The road agent had disappeared through the window behind his wife.

  Slocum cursed as he made his way from stall to stall, wary of a trap. He poked his head out the window in time to see Jeter galloping away with Ruth in front of him on his horse. Gun raised, Slocum sighted and then lowered the Peacemaker. The range was too great and he might hit Ruth, in spite of the woman being in front of Jeter.

  Not wasting a second, Slocum retraced his footsteps to the back of the cabin and swung into the saddle. The horse was glad to be free and away, but not so happy that it would gallop for Slocum. It had its pace and nothing he did made it go faster than a trot.

  “They’re getting away, you worthless hunk of horse meat!” raged Slocum. The horse ignored his curses and threats and kept plodding along, letting Jeter and Ruth get farther away by the minute.

  Slocum knew how good Jeter was at hiding his tracks, but he had gotten onto the outlaw’s trail too quickly this time for any such stunts. While his horse moved at its own molasses-slow pace, Slocum knew there was a bit of luck in his favor. Jeter had ridden hard and lon
g from San Esteban, and now his tired horse carried almost twice the weight it had before. Slocum doubted Jeter would ever willingly give up his wife.

  But he might kill her. If he couldn’t have her, he’d want to make sure no one did. Slocum had no idea what the outlaw suspected about his wife and her unknown visitor. If Ruth was sharp and didn’t get confused from fright, she would spin a tall tale about a bounty hunter or lawman come to arrest Jeter and how frightened she had been for him. If she hesitated an instant and Jeter became suspicious that she had slept with Slocum, a dead body would be drawing vultures and maggots before Slocum could find her.

  “Come on, you refugee from a glue factory,” Slocum said angrily, raking his spurs along the horse’s flanks to get it moving faster. The horse protested noisily, but took the punishment rather than breaking into a gallop. In his day Slocum had seen his share of balky horses. Usually only mules acted this stubborn, but abusing the horse wasn’t the way to overtake Jeter and Ruth. Slocum slackened his use of spurs and let the horse pick its way along the winding trail Jeter had taken.

  Slocum rode more cautiously when he reached the edge of the valley and towering, sheer walls of rock. The outlaw might lay a trap anywhere along the way now that Slocum no longer had a clear view ahead. More than once he looked up, startled, when a stone dislodged and came tumbling down. His nervousness communicated to the horse. It increasingly shied at shadows or rabbits bolting across the trail.

  Wishing for a better look ahead along the trail got him nowhere. He had to keep reminding himself Jeter knew the countryside like the back of his hand, and had probably figured out long since the best spots for am-bushing anyone following him. Exhausted from the tension, Slocum gave his horse—and himself—a rest when they reached the top of a ridge. Ahead stretched a pass that wound about in such a way that Slocum saw only a quarter mile of trail. This would be a perfect spot for a dry-gulching.

  Or would it?

  Slocum looked more skeptically at the way the road rose up. Anyone following the trail would be exposed to gunfire from ahead, but the sniper would also be exposed because of the strange twist made just past the mouth of the pass. Taking his field glasses from his saddlebags, Slocum looked not at the pass but at the rugged area to the right of the pass and downslope from it. At first he saw nothing, then a sudden flash almost blinded him. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but Slocum noted the spot and kept his binoculars trained on the distinctive rocks where he had seen it.

  A slow smile came to his lips.

  “Jeter, you egg-sucking dog, you were going to shoot me in the back if I went through the pass.” Slocum caught a glimpse of Ruth as she struggled to get free of Jeter, then nothing. Waiting another five minutes didn’t provide him with even a hint that the outlaw was lying in wait to kill him.

  Slocum put away his field glasses and then pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard. He jacked a round into the Winchester’s chamber and set out on foot to deal with Jeter. The outlaw wouldn’t expect an attack from his flank. Slocum wished he had the time to circle and come up on Jeter from behind, but the feeling that time was running out for Ruth drove him. Jeter wasn’t the patient sort, and would begin to get antsy when Slocum didn’t show up to get himself back-shot.

  Making his way through the rocks, Slocum worked his way downslope, and then reached a rugged ravine leading over to where Jeter had pitched his camp.

  “I swear, Les, nothing happened. He didn’t touch me!”

  “Shut up,” the road agent growled. “I know men. He might not have done nuthin’ to you but he was thinkin’ ’bout it. And I don’t know if he ain’t one of the posse on my tail.”

  “Posse? Why’d the law want you, Les? Tell me you haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Slocum wished Ruth would shut up and let her husband do the talking. She was going to step over the line and reveal something she shouldn’t. When that happened, Jeter would turn on her fast.

  “What makes you think the law’s got any part of this? It’s a bunch of them owlhoots from San Esteban. I told you they didn’t cotton much to me. They got it stuck in their craw that I know something about the bank bein’ robbed.”

  “You didn’t burn it down, did you?”

  Slocum cursed and moved faster. Ruth had made a big blunder that Jeter wouldn’t ignore. And he didn’t.

  “Why’d you say a thing like that? What’s that son of a bitch tell you?”

  “Les, nothing! I swear!”

  Ruth gasped. Slocum couldn’t see them, but guessed that Jeter was adding more bruises to the woman’s arms.

  “How’d you know about the bank?”

  “Y-you said they were after you for robbing the bank. And you smell of smoke. Not cooking-fire smoke. This is a lot more acrid.”

  Slocum wasn’t sure that explanation would do anything to Jeter’s suspicions other than fan them. But it didn’t matter now. He got to a spot where he had a clean shot at the outlaw. Ruth was hidden by rocks, but that only made the shot all the sweeter. Slocum could hit only Jeter and not his wife.

  He lifted the Winchester to his shoulder, aimed, and fired in one smooth action. The bullet missed Jeter by inches because the outlaw lurched forward to grab his wife. Jeter stumbled and went to his knees. Slocum got off a second shot. This one hit the man, but it only winged him. Slocum had hoped for a clean kill.

  “Git over here, bitch!” Jeter scooted away on his knees, out of Slocum’s line of right. A flurry of skirts and the woman wearing them appeared. For an instant Slocum caught sight of her. Jeter had her tightly and swung her about to use her as a shield.

  Slocum rushed forward. As long as the outlaw fought with his wife, he wasn’t going to shoot straight. Bouncing off first one rock and then the other, Slocum reached a level spot where he had a shot at Jeter again. It was a dangerous shot for Ruth. The outlaw held her in front of him, but Slocum was cool and his years as a sniper during the war stood him in good stead. He fired again.

  Jeter let out a squawk and shoved Ruth forward, blocking another shot. When Ruth fell facedown on the ground, Slocum fired again. He cursed a blue streak and vaulted over the prone woman, only to hear a shot and feel sharp pain in his arm where Jeter’s bullet narrowly missed doing serious harm.

  Firing steadily at the outlaw, Slocum cut off any possible deadly reply. When the rifle magazine came up empty, he tossed it to Ruth and said, “Hang onto that. It’s empty.”

  “John, please. Let him go!”

  Slocum wasn’t sure who she was worried more about, her husband or him. If she didn’t care how she was treated, then her sympathies lay with Jeter. Slocum didn’t wait to sort it all out or ask what she wanted. He drew his Peacemaker and went after the outlaw.

  Jeter made no attempt to hide his trail. He couldn’t. There wasn’t time, and he was running for his life. Slocum pressed on and caught sight of Jeter worming his way between two closely spaced rocks. Slocum fired twice, bullets kicking off pieces of stone on either side of the fleeing man. He might have scratched Jeter, but nothing more.

  “Give up, Jeter,” Slocum called, looking around for a spot where he could gain the advantage of higher ground. The downslope gave him an angle, but the rocks were too close to one another for him to get a real shot at Jeter. He saw a boulder to the left of the trail and scrambled up it, dropped flat on the top, and waited for Jeter to reveal himself.

  Nothing.

  “Come on, you coward!” Slocum shouted. “You a yellow-belly? I’d never have thought you would run like a scalded dog. What’s the matter, that woman of yours steal your balls?”

  He felt a coldness descend on him when he realized that Jeter might be out of earshot. The silence was absolute. The gunfire had quieted the animals and even the wind, leaving behind an eerie calm. Slocum was sure he would have heard a flea moving across a rock—if there had been a flea moving. Jeter was long gone.

  Slocum waited another few minutes, just to be sure. Patience would flush Jeter out if he was within a hundred
yards. Slocum eventually gave up and slipped back off the rock. Jeter knew he had met his match and had started to run, and was probably still running.

  Making his way back uphill, Slocum returned to the spot where Jeter had tried to ambush him. Ruth huddled in the vee made by two large boulders, clutching the rifle and shoving it in front of her as if she had a chicken stick and intended to whack a particularly aggressive rooster intent on pecking her.

  “It’s empty,” Slocum said. “I told you that.”

  “I . . . I heard you before,” she said. “Les might not have, though.”

  “You would never have bluffed him. He’s too much of a hard case.”

  “I know,” she said. Ruth struggled to stand and couldn’t. She used the rifle as a crutch and still couldn’t stand. “Help me, please. I’m stuck!”

  Slocum had to laugh at her predicament. He grasped her work-hardened hands and pulled steadily, finally getting her free. She staggered forward into his arms. She felt good there, but Slocum knew this wasn’t the time for such things when Jeter was on the loose.

  “We got to get out of here,” he said.

  “You’re letting him go? I thought—” A mixture of fear and hope mixed in her words.

  “I want you out of danger,” Slocum said. “You can stay at the farm.”

  “But Les might return!”

  “He might,” Slocum admitted, “but my guess is that he won’t. He said something about a posse being on his trail. That means his own worthless hide is at risk the longer he stays in these parts.”

  “He’s always talking about Mexico,” Ruth said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

  “He might cross the Rio Grande, but he won’t stay there,” Slocum said. “He’s not had a chance to spend any of the loot from the robberies. That means he’s hidden it around this area somewhere.”

  “The farm? He hid it there?”